


(Not) bringing sexy back

by TheDreamingSpires



Series: art for the soul [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Chewie - Freeform, Multi, gratuitous dialogue, kind of filler but cute I hope, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 07:12:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDreamingSpires/pseuds/TheDreamingSpires
Summary: If there was a roadmap to soulmate relationships, Bucky's life would be a whole lot easier.





	(Not) bringing sexy back

Bucky had realised a very long time ago that he should probably look into acquiring some new friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his current batch, but more that he occasionally felt like he was surrounded by honest to hell crazy people. Natasha was so secretive about her life ‘PB’ (pre-Bucky, as Bucky was obviously the key figure in her life, sort of like Christ but only with a better haircut and a larger collection of Game of Thrones _POP_ figurines) that Bucky had honestly considered the possibility of her having been constructed in a Soviet lab, from which she had mounted an impressive escape and found herself in Midtown New York with her own ramshackle group of sidekicks. Basically, Nat could be the protagonist of any shitty 80s blockbuster, and that sometimes make him doubt her viability as a BFF. For when their relationship got really strained, like _right now_ , when Bucky had been unceremoniously kicked out of their apartment in the middle of a really good rant about _why the hell Steve won’t sleep with me yet, goddammit_ , he had Carol.

The longer he spent with Carol, the more convinced Bucky became that she was in fact a septuagenarian, well-cloaked in the body of a ridiculously pretty, ass-kicking twenty-something. His forty minute journey across town to Hell’s Kitchen had given him a pretty good opportunity to itemise his woes, and he had even carefully crafted a note on his phone which demonstrated the line of attack his debate with Carol regarding his recent lack of sexy times should take. Marching up to her buzzer, he waited patiently for a response, waiting a solid two minutes (far too long, according to his carefully constructed note timeline) before a harassed voice answered.

“Danvers?”

“Carol, its Bucky. I have fudge.”

“You have what?” she replied shrilly.

“FUDGE. I’ve brought fudge as I need to have a heart to heart with someone who isn’t a heart-trampling harpy.”

Silence. Then, “Natasha kicked you out?”

“Natasha _kicked me out_ , Carol!”

The buzzer rang and then clicked, allowing Bucky to shove through her door and clamber up her stairs, turning each corner on the stair more violently than necessary. As soon as he got to 4A he went straight in, stopping dead in the doorway when he saw Carol, wrapped in a blanket with her reading glasses on, Chewie nestled next to her in the Fair Isle blanket Tony had reportedly given him for Hanukkah, despite no one involved being Jewish. She looked tired, skin gaunt and pale over her normally-prominent cheekbones.

“How are you still fit? You look like a crazy old cat woman, oh my god.”

“Is that your way of saying ‘do me’, Barnes?” she laughed, turning off her Kindle and gesturing to the seat opposite her. “I knew you were sexually frustrated, but who knew how far that could go. Take a pew, and tell me your story. God knows I need to think about something other than myself right now.”

Bucky launched straight in, with the tiki bar fiasco followed by the post-diner make out on the street, then the four dates since them all of which had been _perfect_ and _Hallmark-worthy_ and yet still let him with nothing but his hand and memories in the middle of the night. “If he’s anti-sex or something I could live with it, Carol,” he whined, “but I just need to know. I’ve washed my best boxers every single time we go out, as I have to be wearing something good the first time, but they’re beginning to get threadbare!”

“You only have one good pair of boxers?” she queried, blurting “well, I know what you’re getting for Christmas,” when she saw how unimpressed he looked.

“He doesn’t want to have sex with me, and I don’t know why, but it’s pretty difficult not to take it personally,” he grumbled, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh, baby,” she cooed in response, immediately reminding him why Carol was the better female friend when it came to sympathy. Nat would have laughed and hit him. “I’m sure that isn’t it.”

“Of course that’s what you think, you want this hot bod,” he deflected, uncomfortable in his vulnerability.

Carol sneered at him, adjusting herself in her blanket. “So you’ve literally only kissed on the street? That’s it?”

“We made out on his couch, once,” he replied morosely, picking at the tasselled side of one of the cushions he knew Wanda had made for her. “I really thought it was going somewhere, I was this close to whipping my shirt off.”

“And?” she prompted gently.

“ _And_ , Sam came home and Steve leapt off me like I had the plague, then insisted we order takeout.”

“That’s cute!”

“For all three of us, Carol!”

“Oh.”

“Exactly, ‘oh’.” He slumped further into the seat, noting that it was the only Tony liked to play supervillain in, and realising that he totally understood the preference.

They sat in silence for a while, the sound of Chewie’s snores the only thing occasionally interrupting. Then, Bucky perked up. “You said you knew I was sexually frustrated!”

“What?”

“When I came in, you said you knew I was sexually frustrated. How?”

It was Carol’s turn to go on the defensive, and she began her campaign by snorting and lying back in her chair. “You helped me rate that dick pic bloody Quartermain sent me, we’re on that level as friends. If you’d fucked him, you’d have told me. Probably in excruciating detail, as you have precisely two friends other than me who also like dick, and one of them is your sister, and the other is Nat. I’d be your only option.”

He glared, sitting up straight and steepling his hands. “What if I’d come over here to tell you that we’d had sex and it was terrible? Maybe Natasha had kicked me out as I’d been bitching about the size of his dick or something. You had no way of knowing.”

“You’re addicted to texting, you wouldn’t have been able to keep that in.”

“Clint dropped my phone in the sink last night, I had no way of telling you.”

“You’d have bellowed it through my intercom when you got here.”

“We both know Tony has that thing bugged, don’t want him asking Steve about his dick at the Halloween party.”

Carol screwed up her nose, trying to think of a retort. Bucky whooped victoriously. “See! I’m right, you know something. Spill, Danvers, or I tell Tony you’ve got Chewie on dry food and nothing else.”

Carol gasped and covered Chewie’s ears, before relenting. “Fine! Sam might have mentioned it a couple of days ago. In passing. That Steve wasn’t having any sex. Which means, by extension, you aren’t.”

“Did he say why?” Bucky pressed.

“No!”

“Could you ask?”

“No, Bucky,” she said in obvious horror.

“Why not?”

“We’re not exactly speaking right now, if you must know.”

That made Bucky jolt. Since the summer party, he knew Sam and Carol had been becoming pretty close, going on runs together and even co-planning the Halloween party which was all that was getting Bucky through at the moment. He had his costume picked out and everything, a dubiously tight sailor costume which he hoped would finally break Steve’s resolve. He’d been on FaceTime with Carol as he’d bought it, although he hadn’t told her precisely why he needed such a sexy look for a party where everyone there was going to be one of their friends, or tangentially attached to them.

“Carol, what happened?” he tried, in a softer tone.

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky. We’ll be fine by the party.” She turned away from him, and Bucky had a sudden realisation that she was crying.

“No, _that_ doesn’t matter, Carol,” Bucky griped, reaching forward to put a hand on her knee. “None of my shit does. Steve is totally amazing, everything I could ever have wished for and more. I’m sorry I let a pathetic complaint get in the way of whatever’s going on with you.” Deciding that he still wasn’t close enough to her, he moved onto the floor, kneeling so he could rest his chin on her thigh and look up at her. “What happened?”

Carol shook her head, strengthening her resolve. Bucky watched steel shutters in her eyes fall down to hide her emotions, and she wiped at the tear tracks on her cheeks angrily. “Nothing, Bucky. It’s all okay. I have no idea why Steve isn’t having sex with you, sorry. I need to call my brother in a moment, if that’s all?”

Bucky stood up abruptly, recognising this as his time to leave. He wandered over to the door, looking back at her with concern. “Want me to bring you some ice cream?”

She laughed sadly. “No, Bucky, but thanks. Bye.”

He left the apartment with a wave, already mentally plotting his next move.

 

Steve himself answered the door to his apartment, wearing scruffy tracksuit bottoms and a Columbia t-shirt, black glasses sitting haphazardly on his nose. He beamed when he saw Bucky, wrapping him in an incredible hug. “Best surprise ever,” he murmured, kissing Bucky on the corner of the mouth and leading him into the sitting room, kicking the door shut behind him. Bucky had been right in what he’d said to Carol: he was the luckiest man alive, sex or no sex.

As they rounded the corner, Bucky caught sight of Sam, sitting morosely in front of the TV, eyes flicking across the screen as what looking unnervingly like _90 Day Fiancé_ played out in glorious HD. Steve made a shushing motion with his hand, and towed Bucky into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them.

“What’s up with that?”

“Sam’s in a funk,” said Steve with a frown, busying himself by bringing out the makings of his famous hot chocolate. “He won’t talk to me, though. I was hoping he would talk to Carol or someone, but no dice.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, reaching for a mug and starting to pulverise the chocolate like Steve had shown him on their third date, blushing when Steve hummed approvingly, and remembering the conversation they’d had that night, when he’d blurted an ill-advised ‘I love you’ and Steve and hugged him so tight he’d though a rib would pop. That was after they’d been to MOMA for an evening exhibit, and he’d first seem Steve truly in his element, gazing at art with a fascination Bucky himself hadn’t felt for anything since he was 12 and wanted to be an astronaut. Well, hadn’t felt about anything until that day he’d seen Steve’s photo on Facebook. He’d been pretty intent on gazing at Steve since then.

“How long’s he been in the funk?”

Steve chuckled, leaning on the counter as the milk bubbled happily in the pan on the stove. “The period in Sam’s life henceforth known as ‘The Funk’ began roughly three days ago,” he replied, pulling his glasses down his nose to give him a look of beleaguered professor.

“Oh, Steve, you know I love it when you talk academic to me,” Bucky whispered, pretending to swoon and almost knocking his mug off the counter. Steve snorted unattractively, or at least what would have been unattractive on anyone else, and rescued the mug. They stood in each other’s space for a while, Steve becoming transfixed by the rough sketch of trees on Bucky’s arm, testament to the rapid-fire pace Steve’s art had been appearing at since he’d divested himself of the cast when his broken arm had mended.

They broke apart when the door opened, and Sam stumbled in. He peered around himself blindly for a moment, looking a little like some kind of mole man, before his gaze settled on Bucky. Sam looked fine initially, but the longer Bucky looked at him the more he looked rough, there was no other word for it: his clothes, a black t-shirt and elderly cargo pants, looked like normal Sam loungewear, but his normally carefully maintained facial hair had grown out, and become slightly unwieldy. On someone normally so meticulous, it looked out of place. His eyes also looked tired as he continued to blink at Bucky uncertainly.

“Hey, Bucky. When did you get here?”

“He’s been here for a while,” Steve jumped in, hurriedly stirring the hot chocolate and filling a Cookie Monster mug before proffering it to Sam. “Cocoa?”

“Thanks, buddy,” Sam intoned, sipping his mug and smiling vaguely, before moving towards the door again. “Don’t mind me, guys. I’ll be in my room.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Sam was already gone, kitchen door shut softly behind him. He stood in silence for a second, then murmured, “The Funk in action.”

“I see it,” Bucky replied, boosting himself onto the counter as Steve served their own cocoas. “And I have a theory. Three days, you said?”

Steve nodded sombrely, expression totally at odds with the pink unicorn shaped mug he was filling, a gift which Bucky had bought him at Coney Island. That had been their second date, it you include the tiki bar and diner as one (which Bucky did, refusing to accept that the tiki bar alone was the first date he had ever got with his soulmate), and the first time Bucky had seen the true childlike enthusiasm which Steve had for certain things, including cotton candy and coconut shies. It was also the first time he’d had a heart-stopping moment of affection, although this time he’d managed not to voice it, watching Steve help a small boy find his mother.

Mug filled, Steve passed it to Bucky, who gulped the hot liquid greedily and immediately regretted it when his mouth started burning. Steve snorted, leaning back against the other counter. “Three days ago, yeah. He went out on his morning jog as normal, but then that was the day I went over to yours to make pie for Clint’s birthday, so I didn’t see him until he got back from work. And by that point, he was in The Funk.”

“So he went out jogging when?”

“6am like always, rushed out of here like a bat out of hell because he was going to be late, and if he’s late then Carol gets to give a forfeit. Last time it was burpees, and he could barely sit for a week.”

“Then what?”

“So then he comes home at about 8am, as they always spend like half an hour chatting, then he leave for work at 9:30am, finally gets home at like 7pm, and we have dinner. I’d ordered takeout as it was a Friday, and he didn’t even want his spring rolls!”

Bucky gave Steve an unimpressed look, but Steve seemed adamant that the spring roll rejection was some kind of sign, grumbling “he loves spring rolls” under his breath as Bucky considered the information.

“Carol’s in a bit of a weird mood too, said they’d had a falling out,” Bucky finally offered.

“Well, you could have said that earlier,” Steve griped in response, “but I had kind of guessed that. I’ve only seen him in a funk of similar magnitude when I tried to move in with my girlfriend in junior year, and leave him with our other roommates. We almost stopped being friends over that.” Steve had his ‘pondering’ face on, and apparently missed the bolt of shock running through Bucky at the casual mention of a girlfriend. Bucky knew that Steve, like him, swung both ways, but had assumed that Steve would have mentioned a _serious girlfriend who he lived with_ by now. Deciding that that was something to box up for later, he instead focussed on something else.

“So it must have been something major, then?”

“Yeah, she must have done something really bad.”

That put Bucky’s hackles up. “Excuse me, maybe he did something really bad to her! Might not be her fault.”

Steve looked confused, verging on mutinous. “But it couldn’t be Sam, Bucky. He’s the first one to spot his own mistakes. They’re really close, he’d never hurt her.”

Seething slightly, Bucky hopped down from the counter and crossed his arms, but still not quite able to attack Sam in his own home. “Just because your girlfriend dumped you doesn’t mean girls are evil, Steve.”

“What? Peggy didn’t dump me,” Steve’s face was definitely mutinous now, his tone harsh. “Is this about me having a girlfriend? We haven’t had the exes talk yet, Bucky. I was saving Peggy until then, when everyone was in the right mindset.”

“It would have been nice to know,” Bucky said primly, already hating himself for having shown his cards so easily.

“What, that you’re my first boyfriend? Because you are,” Steve spat, and Bucky blinked.

“What?”

“You’re my first boyfriend, Buck. I always knew I was interested in men, but none came along. I think people look at me and get the wrong idea, always assume I’m straight. And the two girlfriends I’ve had, they’ve both been amazing, so I guess my own mind started to tell me that it was easier to just keep looking for girls. I had a suspicion my soulmate might be a guy, though.” Steve had visibly deflated throughout his little speech, folding in on his mug. All the fight went out of Bucky when he saw how small Steve looked, stood in the kitchen admitting to his boyfriend and soulmate that he had no idea how to be in a relationship with another guy.

“Is that why you don’t want to have sex with me?” Bucky hedged, figuring now was the time to get it out in the open.

“God, Buck, of course I want to have sex with you!” Steve exclaimed, looking up with eyes so wide Bucky was worried his skin would split. “I just really wanted it to be special, for so many reasons, and getting overexcited after an amazing date didn’t feel right, especially as whenever that happens Sam or Natasha always makes an appearance.”

Bucky nodded slowly, suddenly realising the extra importance Steve was putting in this. Even if Bucky wasn’t his first time with a guy, it was his first time with a guy who he cared about, and who really cared about him. That it was his first time with his soulmate, who hadn’t been overly secretive about his own plethora of experience with a multitude of guys, couldn’t have helped. Bucky looked across at Steve, softening his posture and giving him a small smile, but Steve forged on.

“And then, the other night, when you and I were on the couch, I was so certain that this time was the _right time_ , and that it would all be beautiful, then Sam came in and I knew how sad he was and I thought maybe seeing us like that would make him ever sadder, and so I panicked, and we ordered Indian food and I instead forced him into being a third-wheel, and made you think that your own soulmate doesn’t want to rip your clothes off.” Steve panted a little after his extended sentence, catching his breath.

Bucky moved forward, crowding him against the corner of the counter he was standing next to, and caged Steve’s head in his hands. “You utter moron,” he breathed, leaning their foreheads together. “Do you know how close we just were to our first fight?”

“Partially your fault,” Steve replied, voice no more than a sigh into Bucky’s mouth, “you’re stubborn too.”

Bucky chuckled, and pressed their lips together, keeping it chaste so he could focus instead on carding his fingers through Steve’s hair, enjoying the little moans Steve made in response. They broke apart, still standing slightly too close together, and Steve reached forwards to stroke Bucky’s cheek.

“We should basically be relationship counsellors; that was defused in record time,” Steve joked, going back to tracing the spindly lines of the winter tree that covered Bucky’s entire lower arm. “Now we just need to work out what’s up with Sam and Carol and we’ll be golden.”

Bucky was about to speak, when another voice chimed in. “I tried to kiss her,” Sam muttered from the doorway, now wearing soft plaid pyjamas and dangling his dirty mug from one hand. “I thought that was where this was all going, I did, and she was so into it for a split second, then she pulled away and asked me to leave.”

Steve looked saddened but still vaguely triumphant, presumably heartened that it had indeed been Carol’s fault. “If you say ‘I told you so’, Rogers, I swear to god I’ll go and find another soulmate.”

Steve gave him a defiant look, but seemed more interested in going over to Sam and embracing him. “You’re not wrong, Sam. I could see why you thought that was where it was going. I wouldn’t have been shocked if you were soulmates, I have to say.”

Sam shrugged weakly, still standing in the curve of Steve’s arm. “I knew we weren’t soulmates, this is all my fault. I was selfish.”

It was Bucky’s turn to look triumphant, but he waived the right in order to instead look confused. “How do you know?”

“I had a platonic soulmate already, his name was Riley. We found each other in basic training, we did everything together. Definitely platonic, though, both of us were straight as they come. It almost killed me when he died, and my mark’s stuck on the last thing he ever drew,” Sam punctuated his speech by pulling his t-shirt up, revealing the perfect six-pack which Bucky would be salivating at if it wasn’t that a) Sam was sad and b) Steve was also perfect. Across his bottom rib was an uneven swirl, like the kind you might draw in a margin of a particularly boring bit of homework. Presumably that was exactly what it was. “So, I’m not Carol’s soulmate, and presumably she has one out there, and I’m just being selfish trying to grab her for myself.”

All three men stood in silence, Bucky and Steve looking at each other, Sam looking at the floor. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.

 

Two weeks later, Bucky was standing in his sailor suit next to a slim man dressed as Harry Potter, waiting for the lift to arrive at the penthouse of Stark Tower. Harry turned and smiled politely, and Bucky gave him an uneasy grin, totally unsure as to who it was. “Phil, I work for Tony,” Harry informed him, extending a hand. Bucky shook, and the rest of the ride went in silence. When the doors pinged open, the first thing Bucky noticed was the pair of people waiting outside, apparently the Ron and Hermione to complete the trio, who grabbed Phil by either elbow and dragged him into the throng.

There were far, far more people here than he had been anticipating, but oddly that made the situation better. The venue had been shifted from Carol’s apartment to Stark Tower in the aftermath of The Funk (now adopted to mean the whole situation, rather than just Sam’s mood), apparently by Tony, who had insisted that things go on as normal. Things had not been normal, though, and Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Carol, or any of her friends other than Clint, who now apparently lived in their apartment. No one was sure if they were soulmates, and Bucky sure as hell wasn’t going to ask.

He clocked Steve, as George Washington, lurking by the buffet, shadowed by a particularly lacklustre zombie in the form of Sam. He slowly made his way over, peering through the crowd for familiar faces, before being stopped just short of his intended destination by a Dalmatian.

“Bucky! Buddy! Oh my god, haven’t seen you in ages. What happened, man?” Peter wrapped him in a bear-hug, and Bucky noted Pietro waving at him from over Peter’s shoulder, where he was standing with his sister. Pietro appeared to be dressed as a male Cruella DeVil, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin.

“I think everyone just lost track of time,” Bucky replied, proud of his diplomatic answer.

Peter cocked his head, every inch the real puppy, before his eye caught on something behind Bucky. “Oh, Stark’s little intern is here! Dare me to dare him to ask Pepper what Tony’s like in bed?”

“What?” Bucky stuttered, but Peter was already gone, pursuing a confused looking brunette boy across the dance floor and heckling, ‘Peter! Peter!’ Pietro chased after him, giving Bucky a long-suffering look as he passed.

By the time he reached Steve and Sam, they were deep in conversation with Thor and his girlfriend, or at least Steve was. Sam stood smiling vaguely, attention fixed on an unmoving point near Thor’s ear. As Bucky approached, he gave a grateful smile, and slipped off to the bathroom. Steve comfortably laid his arm over Bucky’s shoulders, and continued talking about childhood vacations with their friends.

When Thor and Jane eventually moved away to find Pepper, Bucky turned to Steve. “This is so weird, we have to do something.”

“I know, Bucky, but seriously, what can we do? We can’t make them be friends,” Steve voiced, although he looked like he was considering it. “They don’t like that our friends have all drifted apart any more than we do, Sam feels shit that he’s made it so you and I can’t be friends with Clint and the rest of them. He knows how close you and Carol were.”

“That’s my fault, not his. I pushed, and then I read her radio silence as something she wanted. Now its been too long.”

“Why not go and ask her?” Steve prompted, pointing out the lone figure of a cat standing by the sliding doors out on to the balcony, apparently gazing out at the night sky. Strengthening his resolve, he marched over to Carol, Steve following in his wake.

“Carol?”

“Bucky, hi,” said Carol warmly, turning around and smiling widely at him. “How’ve you been? I’m so sorry I haven’t got in touch, it’s just that everything’s been so busy, and-,”

“It’s because of me, Carol, and they know it. I told them. I was fair,” the uninspiring zombie once again loomed behind Steve, but now he seemed more assertive, Sam folding his arms across his chest and making his presence felt.

“Of course you were fair. You’re a good person,” Carol responded, looking him in the eye. “Which is exactly why we can’t be friends.”

All three men looked taken aback, and so Carol stepped forward and put a hand on Sam’s arm. “We need to talk about this, don’t we?” she asked, looking like she’d resigned herself to her fate. Sam nodded, and the two walked away across the room, disappearing into private quarters at the back of the hallway which she could only access since she had once lived in Stark Tower. Steve and Bucky looked at each other, then headed back to the buffet, holding hands.

 

Two chugging contests with Thor later, and Bucky was more than a little buzzed. Pepper had let him into the private quarters at the back to go and find somewhere to lie down, and so he stumbled down a corridor blindly, having left Steve to try and defend his honour. Pepper’s clear instructions of “second door on the right” were echoing in his ear, but not overly helpful considering that he had lost the faculty to count and had never been totally clear on his left and right. Reaching the glass wall at the end of the corridor, he frowned and went back the way he had come, opening a door at random to find a bathroom. Eagerly, he went to the faucet and gulped some water, before heading back out. Wherever this damn room was, Pepper had promised it to him and Steve for the night. Steve could find it later.

Bucky was halfway back to the main room when he heard a sudden crash from behind one of the doors to his left, followed by what was undeniably and very distinctly a moan. Operating purely on instinct, Bucky crashed through the door in a particularly uncoordinated fashion, even for Drunk Bucky, only to hear a sudden shriek and be met with someone hurling a pillow at him. The room was dark, illuminated only by the lights of the city streaming in from the floor to ceiling wall of windows opposite Bucky, and he could dimly make out two figures on the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. As one figure shifted under the covers, Bucky had a moment of clarity, and pointed accusatorially.

“No!” he grumbled, sagging against the doorframe. “Don’t tell me you two have had hate sex before Steve and I have had love sex, please no.”

One of the lamps at the side of the bed came on, and Bucky was met by Sam and Carol, blinking at him. Sam had thankfully shrugged back into his boxers, while Carol had pulled his zombie-shirt on and burrowed under the covers.

“This isn’t fair, guys. I know I’m drunk and I’ll regret this all in the morning, but please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“That’s not what this is, Bucky,” Sam informed him seriously, while Carol nodded emphatically.

“But you _said_ , Samuel,” Bucky groaned in response. “You said you’re not soulmates.”

“We’re not, Bucky,” Carol replied, and Drunk Bucky was fascinated by just how Bostonian she sounded if you hadn’t heard her voice for a while. “I don’t have a soulmate, and Sam’s was platonic, and he’s dead,” she continued simply.

“What?” he asked, wincing at the pair of them.

“I’m one of the 5% Bucky, or whatever it is. I don’t have a soulmark, never will. I saw Sam’s when we were out running once and I panicked, so when he kissed me I reacted in exactly the way I’d have wanted if I had a soulmate and a soulmarkless person kissed them. I told him to sod off.” She turned to Sam now, leaning against him. “But that’s not how it was at all, and I’ve been so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve made it up to me,” Sam replied, wiggling his eyebrows at her lecherously so she laughed.

“You, maybe. The rest of you, I’ll work on,” she promised, sitting up in the bed and smiling at Bucky, who scowled back.

“I can’t believe you’ve had sex with Sam before I’ve had sex with Steve,” he grumbled, and marched back to the party.

 

Sober Bucky reared his painful head at lunchtime the next day, blinking pathetically in the soft light streaming through the gauzy curtains behind the bed. He tried to turn away from the sun, groaning as he did so, only to smack straight into something hard and unmoving.

“God, Buck, ow,” complained Steve, rubbing his head where Bucky had knocked into it.

“Sorry,” he muttered in reply, burrowing deeper into the covers to he could rest his head on Steve’s chest. They lay in silence for a moment, Bucky wrapping his arms around Steve’s naked waist and enjoying the warm softness of his skin. The skin to skin heat transfer was incredible, warming Bucky far more than the sun ever could.

“Shit, no, no,” Bucky suddenly sat up in bed, looking down at Steve in terror. “We didn’t do anything, did we?”

Steve chuckled, dragging Bucky back down to lying down and spooning him, slotting their legs together and resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. “No, Buck. You told me a great long story about Carol which made no kind of sense, then you stripped and insisted on dancing to _Sexyback_ for a bit, then you went to sleep. No sex, don’t panic.”

“No sex is good,” Bucky murmured, shocked that this sentiment had ever crossed his mind, never mind his lips. A second later, he flipped over again, so his nose was millimetres off Steve’s. “No! Not no sex!”

Steve gave him a long-suffering look, but continued to card his fingers through Bucky’s hair, lengthening his path so that he was dragging them lightly up and down Bucky’s arms. “We didn’t have sex, Bucky.”

“No, we didn’t! Carol and Sam!”

“What?” It was Sam’s turn to sit up in bed, almost braining Bucky as he did so.

“I saw them!”

“You saw my best friend having sex?” Steve looked visibly perturbed.

“I walked in on them last night!”

“You did what?!”

Bucky took a deep breath, and explained everything which he could remember from the night before. He had a few gaps, including why he’d chosen to go into the room and why he hadn’t left the minute he’d spotted what was going on, but there was no point in cringing now. At the end of his tale, Steve started giggling, a noise totally at odds to the way he looked.

“What?” he asked grumpily, annoyed that his gossip was being rejected in this way.

“You could have said anything, and you went for complaining that you haven’t got laid yet?”

“It seemed appropriate, okay?”

Steve’s giggles turned to a throatier laugh, which went straight to Bucky’s groin. “We’ll get there, Bucky. For now, want to go and embarrass them both at lunch?”

“Definitely,” Bucky replied with a sigh, closing the tiny gap between himself and Steve and pressing their lips together, licking slowly into Steve’s mouth and enjoying the little moans he made, the way he pulled Bucky so tightly towards him it felt like they were close to becoming one person. Bucky could wait for an eternity, as long as he had Steve there.


End file.
